


RvB Fluff War Collection 2

by autisticblueteam



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Domestic, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Autistic Character, Autistic Character(s), F/F, F/M, Fluff, M/M, Multi, RvB Fluff Week
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-14
Updated: 2016-07-14
Packaged: 2018-07-24 00:38:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 9,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7486518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/autisticblueteam/pseuds/autisticblueteam
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of all the prompts I received during the second RvB Fluff War over on Tumblr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. How Was Your Day? (Chex)

**Author's Note:**

> So just like last time, I'm uploading last fluff week's fics a day before the new fluff week starts! This time, only 11.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Church and Theta come home after a day out at the skate park, and Theta is very excited to info dump to Tex all about his day.

“Theta!” There was the sound of a door swinging shut, and of wheels against a wooden floor, “You can’t skate in the _house_!”

“Oops, sorry!”

Tex had to cover her mouth to muffle a laugh. She stopped the punching bag she’d been using from swinging around and stepped away, grabbing a towel and a bottle of water. She listened to the sounds downstairs as she took a swig of water and dried herself of sweat, pulling a loose t-shirt on over her training gear. The sound of wheels on wood had been replaced by socked feet thumping against the floor, and the shuffling noises of material. If her own experience was anything to go by, Theta was refusing to keep still whilst Church tried to get him out of his−

“−Theta, buddy, please, keep _still_ −”

−jacket. Tex didn’t bother to muffle her laugh this time, shaking her head.

She headed to the stairs, taking them two at a time and leaning over the bannister, “Boys, no fighting.”

“Tex!” Theta’s voice came, bright and cheerful.

“Theta don’t−! Oh for…”

Tex didn’t need to guess what had happened, because in the next few seconds Theta appeared in the hallway again with his jacket trailing on the floor behind him. She chuckled, hopping over the banister at the last few steps and crouching down in front of him.

“Are you playing up for your brother, Theta?” She asked, tilting her head. Theta just beamed at her. At that Tex could only roll her eyes playfully and ruffle his hair, shifting to help him get the jacket off of his arms, “I should really tell you off for that.”

 “But you won’t!”

“You know me well,” She replied, smiling at him and winking. With a little more tugging, the jacket finally came free from his arms, “And there we go! We’re jacket free.”

“Finally,” Tex looked up to see Church walking back over, looking more than a little muddled, “Theta, buddy, you have way too much energy for your own good.”

“Heh,” Theta giggled, bouncing on his toes. He looked up at Church, with his big mismatched eyes, and beamed, “I had fun today!”

Church huffed, but Tex could see the corners of his mouth twitching, “Well… Good. But still.”

Tex and Theta shared a look and a smile.

“Hey, Theta, how about you tell me about your day huh?” Tex said after a moment, watching the way Theta’s face lit up, “Sounds like you guys had a lot of fun.”

“We did! We did!” He was bouncing on his toes again, much more energetically this time, and flapping his hands, “Oh I got to do so many cool tricks! It was _awesome_!”

Tex look at Church for a moment, catching the fond smile that had formed on his face now, before turning her attention back to the young boy. She hooked her arm under his knees and scooped him up, his weight absolutely nothing to her, and hoisted him onto her side.

“Well you’ve got to tell me all about them then, don’t you?” She said, shuffling him up and walking through into the family room. Church wasn’t far behind the two of them, dropping into the seat next to them as Tex sat down, “Did you try some of the tricks Uncle Wash taught you?”

“Yeah! I did! They’re so cool!” Theta said, bouncing where he was now sat on her lap, “I couldn’t do them _all_ because Leonard said I was too young−”

“Kid I’m not having you breaking any bones for the sake of a skateboard trick.”

“−But I did a lot!” Theta continued, not hesitating for a moment, “It was so fun! I did, I did this one where…”

Theta went into a detailed description of the multitude of skateboard tricks he’d done that day, with hand gestures and sound effects and a beaming smile on his face the whole time. Tex encouraged him whenever he faltered, prompting him with more questions and ruffling his hair occasionally. Church sat watching them, a subtle smile on his face and his hand tapping against his leg.

A couple of times, Tex swore she could see him going to speak, only to stop himself. The third time she spotted this, she nudged Theta a little and nodded towards his older brother. Theta tilted his head, then his eyes widened and his mouth made an ‘oh!’ shape.

“Hey, hey Leonard! I looked super cool, didn’t I?” He asked.

There was a pause, and Church looked as if he were considering whether or not to answer, before the grin spread across his face, “Well of course you did, but you missed out the best one! You did that one where−”

And then the two of them were explaining excitedly, passing the description back and forth. Tex watched them, smiling the whole time.


	2. Safety (SouthCT)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> South and Connie got out of Freelancer, alive and, most importantly, together. Now, working as mercenaries, they share a little down time after a successful job.

“You know,” A soft voice said, followed by the sound of beeping controls, “If you keep killing our clients, we’re not going to be able to find any more. Word gets around.”

The beeping stopped, a mechanical voice declaring the ship was now on auto-pilot, and a small woman clad in brown armour walked out from the cockpit. She was greeted by the sight of another, much taller and bulkier, woman, sitting and cleaning blood off of dark grey and purple armour. She looked up when she walked into the room, and shrugged.

“Eh. So what? Dude disrespected you, I’m not gonna let that fucking go,” She said.

“Oh Natasha,” The first woman sighed, an almost amused smile on her face, “What am I going to do with you?”

South grinned, “Well, _Constance_ , I could name a few things.”

“Okay, first thing: Don’t call me Constance ever again,” Connie said, walking over with a hand on her hip. When she reached South she leant over, so their faces were level, “Second thing: finish cleaning up that blood and _then_ we can talk.”

“You like it when I’m covered in blood, don’t lie,” Was South’s proud reply, her grin growing. Connie shook her head, kissing her if only to wipe the smug look off her face, before resting their foreheads together.

“Maybe. But I don’t particularly want to get covered in it, thank you very much,” She stole another quick kiss, then stood back and began unsealing her armour.

They fell into a comfortable silence, the only sounds that of South’s scrubbing; Connie’s armour knocking together as she put it away; and the low hum of the engines. Their ship wasn’t much, hijacked from a wreck-yard and fixed up as they earned more money and stole more parts, but it had become home over the years.

The collapse of Project Freelancer had reverberated around the galaxy; news of the implosion of the project had stretched to every major colony that they travelled to. South had to ditch her bright purple and green armour early on, after a civilian recognised the garish colours and called in the UNSC bounty on their heads. It was dangerous, at first, being associated with Project Freelancer; but, over time, it became an asset. The more time passed, the easier it was to use their ex-freelancer status to their advantage. After all, they’d been a part of the most catastrophic implosion the UNSC had seen in years and lived to tell the tale. It was easy to raise your price when you could say _that_ to demonstrate your skill.

Connie put the last piece of her armour away in her locker, stretching out with a deep breath, “I’m going to go lay down. Join me when you’re done.”

South gave her a nod, watching her as she walked through to their somewhat makeshift sleeping quarters. She chuckled a little when she saw her walking on her toes, before turning her attention back to her armour that _still_ wasn’t clean.

Huh. Maybe she should work on being a little tidier with her kills.

Connie changed into a loose hoodie and a pair of compression leggings as she walked through their quarters. When she came to their bed she collapsed onto it backwards with a thud, heaving a sigh and staring up at the ceiling. The bed was familiar, her clothes comforting, and she was tired. She allowed herself a few moments just to lay there before sitting up, grabbing her portable computer – latest model, stolen off a client – and began typing.

She wasn’t sure how much time had passed when she felt the bed sink and a weight cover her legs. She peered over the top of her screen to see South flopped unceremoniously over her legs, her head on her partner’s lap just behind her computer. Connie smiled at that, putting the portable computer down to the side of her and tapping South’s head.

“Hello there. You gonna come up here?”

South immediately shuffled up so that her head was on Connie’s chest, wrapping her arms around her torso tightly and nuzzling her. Connie laced her fingers into her hair, brushing her fading purple fringe out of her face to press a kiss to her forehead. South’s face scrunched up, and a grin spread across her features.

“I fucking love you.”

“I love you too, Tasha,” Connie said, kissing her and feeling South’s grin grow.

“I fucking _love_ when you use my name. I ever told you that? I fucking love it,” She said, nuzzling against Connie’s jaw. Connie combed her fingers through her hair, enjoying the tickling feeling against her skin, and smiled.

“That’s why I do it.”

 “Heh. Whatcha doing anyway?” South peered across her chest at the screen of the portable computer, squinting at the lines upon lines of code, “What you coding?”

“Oh, just a basic program to get me into our last client’s files,” Connie said with a shrug, reaching over and typing idly with her free hand, “I mean, the guy’s dead. May as well take what we can find. Might be some stuff to anonymously send off to the UNSC.”

“Mm,” South pressed a kiss to the soft skin of her neck, letting her teeth graze against the same spot, “Still holding onto that do-gooder stuff. How fucking weird. Love it though.”

Connie kissed the top of her head without looking away from her screen, finishing the last few lines of code she needed and then setting the program loose. She’d have what she wanted within the next couple hours. For now, all she could do was wait.

And so, she turned her attention back to her girlfriend.

South looked content laying there, her head on her shoulder and her arms wrapped tight around her. She often told Connie that she loved how soft she felt when she held her, from the way her skin felt to her ‘squishy’ midsection. Connie, in turn, would tell South how safe being held by her stronger arms felt; how protected she felt to be enveloped by her.

She let out a sigh, leaning her head against South’s and simply relaxing into her embrace. The pressure was nice, familiar and encompassing; her hair was soft between her fingers, her breath a tickle against her skin. Even the low hum of their ship’s engines was somewhat comforting. She felt safe. She shouldn’t, not with how many people probably wanted their heads on a silver platter, but she did.

“I’m glad you’re here, Tasha.”

“Mm. I wouldn’t be anywhere fucking else, Connie. Ever. You’re never getting rid of me.”

“Good. I’m holding you to that.”


	3. Won't Happen Again (Flyoming)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Florida is a formidable force in the field, nothing seems to be able to keep them down. So when something _does_ render them stuck in med bay, Wyoming can't help but worry.

Agent Florida was a formidable force. They had been on mission after mission both alone and with Wyoming, and despite lacking the strength and hand-to-hand skills of many of their fellow freelancers they had an impeccable success record. They did, however, also have a record for field injuries that matched their successes in length.

There wasn’t a lot that could take down Florida, it seemed. Every mission that they were injured they completed with as much skill as any mission that they weren’t. Dislocation? They could handle that. Arm disabled by a well-placed knife? Easy-peasy. Open abdominal wound? No problem at all. Every injury was brushed off like it was nothing, and they were back on missions within a few days when other agents would have taken weeks off. It had reached a point that there were bets on what would finally get Florida to stay in med bay for more than a week.

As it turns out, the one thing Florida wasn’t immune to was a bullet to the chest.

York would have cashed in on that bet, but Wyoming put an end to any betting pool the moment they arrived back on the ship.

“Reginald, I am _fine_. You did not need to break poor Agent New York’s wrist over this! The betting pool was _all_ in good fun,” Florida said, laid in one of medical’s beds with a heavily bandaged chest and connected to various other pieces of medical equipment, “I have made quite the name for myself as a survivor, after all.”

“That is _not_ the point,” Wyoming said, almost huffing.

“Then what _is_ the point, Reggie? Hm? We’re all equally as likely to end up in this situation, and I am _fine_ ,” Florida insisted, patting Wyoming’s hand where it rested on the side of their bed.

“Butch, you nearly _died_. Now I don’t know about you dear, but _personally_ I would not call that being ‘fine’,” Wyoming replied, raising a brow and giving them a look. Florida matched the look easily, “Butch…”

“‘Butch’ nothing! It’s going to take a lot more than a lil’ old bullet to take me down, and you know it,” They said, cutting him off before he could continue. Wyoming still didn’t look particularly convinced, behind his attempt at stoicism, so Florida gave a sigh and patted the bed, “Come here.”

Wyoming seemed almost affronted, “What? My god, Butch, we’re in medical! Surrounded by−”

“−soldiers who are, if not our _biggest fans_ , absolutely terrified of us,” Florida interrupted, patting the bed again, “Come here, Reggie.”

Wyoming hesitated for a moment longer, before heaving a sigh and pulling himself up onto the bed. Florida grinned, moving out of the way as best they could and chuckling as Wyoming shifted them to be mostly sat on his lap. There they rested their head against his shoulder, and let out a content sigh.

“There we go. That wasn’t so hard now, was it?”

“Oh do be quiet,” Wyoming replied, though he sounded more fond than annoyed. He leant his head against theirs, tightening his hold on them as much as he could without causing more discomfort, “You are not, under _any_ circumstances, allowed to do this again. You understand that, dear?”

Florida laughed, “Well I can say I’ll do my darndest! It’s rather out of my control, I’m afraid.”

“Butch,” Wyoming said, kissing the top of their head. Florida sighed with a smile, nuzzling his jaw.

“Oh _fine_ , I promise this won’t happen again.”

“That’s what I like to hear.”

They fell into a comfortable silence, Florida tucking their head against Wyoming’s neck as he held them close. No one in medical had the guts to say a thing, and so they were able to stay there undisturbed even past the end of visiting hours. Wyoming didn’t dare let Florida go, he’d come much too close to losing them, and Florida wasn’t complaining in the slightest.


	4. Listen (Lolix)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felix loves to listen to Locus talk.

Now, being a mercenary came with a need for some very specific types of knowledge. Well, being a _good_ mercenary did, at the very least. Felix couldn’t speak for those who weren’t quite as skilled as he and his partner were, like, really? Some of the people that thought they could hold their own against them, _please_. Not to digress far from the matter at hand, but _seriously_? Who did they think they were _kidding_?

_Anyway_.

This included, but was not limited to, a knowledge of medical aid; armour maintenance; human anatomy; armour structure; and weaponry. Now, everyone had their specialities. Felix was _particularly_ gifted with a set of knives, and using said knives to kill in new and creative ways using other parts of the aforementioned set of skills, for example. But _Locus_ , now Locus was another story.

Locus had a _lot_ of rather specific knowledge about some of the more boring stuff; you know, coding, maths, all that stuff Felix had exactly _zero_ patience for dealing with on a daily basis but were, however unfortunately, part of the job sometimes. But those weren’t even their main speciality, oh no; Locus was a seemingly _endless_ pit of knowledge when it came to guns.

“Mm, whatcha working on there, Lo?” He asked, walking up behind Locus and draping his arms over their shoulders. He rested his chin atop their head, looking down at the pieces laid out on the worktop, “Something new or you just fixing something up?”

It often seemed like Locus could fix _anything_ when it came to their guns, in fact Felix couldn’t name a single instance that they hadn’t been able to find the issue and solve it. Not only _that_ , but Locus had this affinity for designing and implementing upgrades that Felix had never seen the likes of before. The things that they could make, _honestly_! Felix was impressed time after time after _time_ , and let’s be real, it’s hard to impress Felix _once_ let alone over and over again.

“Something new.”

But that wasn’t the best part of Locus’ fascination, oh no.

“Awesome. You wanna tell me about it?”

The best part was listening to Locus talk about it.

“Well, this time−”

As Locus began talking, they began relaxing. Felix stayed there, arms draped around their shoulders and looking down at them from above, just _listening_. Locus almost goes into a trance when they talk like this, a content smile on their face and the words flowing like they’d been practiced thousands of times. They were _comfortable_ , completely and utterly at ease, as they talked Felix through the newest upgrade’s design.

Felix didn’t understand more than about, oh, ninety percent of the terminology they were using but honestly, he didn’t need to. He wasn’t exactly listening for the knowledge, oh god no. That was Locus’ territory, all the way. He was listening because it was Locus talking; because Locus had a deep, soothing voice; because it made Locus _happy_ to talk about it. And hey, the fact that watching them made Felix fall just a _little bit_ more in love with them every time was just an _added_ bonus.


	5. Friend (Caboosington)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wash takes a little time to think after Caboose calls him his friend.

“Wait… What makes you think that?”

“Oh come on Agent Wash− I mean− You know− I’m pretty sure we can trust you! I mean we are _friends_!”

Wash’s breath caught in his throat. He wanted to say something, but words failed him; all he could do was watch Caboose turn around and walk back into the temple, shaking his head and mumbling something to himself as he went. When he was out of sight Wash’s stance faltered, and he turned away from the entrance to the temple chamber whilst swinging his gun up onto his back.

“Friends…”

The world felt almost foreign on his tongue. Friends… What did that even mean, to someone like him? What was a friend? What did being someone’s friend mean? Why did Caboose consider him, Agent Washington, the man who killed their friend and hunted them down, a _friend_?

More importantly, why did the idea of Caboose seeing him that way make his stomach twist and turn in a way that was somehow… pleasant? Why was he _blushing_?

He sighed. The heat was clearly starting to get to him; his armour’s cooling systems weren’t exactly brand new, after all.

He reached up and unsealed the seals on his helmet, pulling it off and shaking his hair out. He tucked it under his arm, closing his eyes and taking a breath. It was starting to get cooler as night set in, and soon enough he figured he’d have no choice but to go inside if he wanted to make it through the night. Carolina was unlikely to return before morning, anyway.

“I’ll give it until it gets dark…” He muttered to himself, dropping down to sit on the edge of the roof. He set his helmet down beside him, and leant back on his hands, “May as well watch the sunset now…”

_Friends_. The word wouldn’t leave him alone. The casual way Caboose had said it, as if it wasn’t a big deal. As if it was something simple.

Wash shook his head. It was simple. He was overthinking this. Wasn’t he? Caboose considered everyone on the Red and Blue teams his friend, so of course he’d call Wash his friend by default. That was just how things worked around here, right? It didn’t mean anything more than he was a teammate, like Tucker.

That had to be it. There was no other explanation that made sense. Wash had done _nothing_ to earn himself that title. Sure, he’d helped keep the Blues (and Reds) safe during their time with Carolina… And sure, maybe he’d helped Caboose down from some post-nightmare meltdowns a few times, let him cry into his shoulder or played with his hair, but… That was just something the teams did for each other, right? That was just how things _worked_ around here, right?

But then why were his cheeks still warm, even with the night air starting to nip at his skin? And why was his stomach still twisting and turning, and his heart pounding?

The sun began its final dip below the horizon, and Wash heaved a sigh. It was going to get extremely cold very soon, and with his temperature regulation systems malfunctioning as they clearly were he had no real choice but to head inside. So he dragged himself up to his feet, picking up his helmet, and walked back into the temple’s main chamber.

Everyone else was asleep. Tucker was sat against the wall by the doors, meant to be the other guard for the night but having fallen asleep with his head on his knees. Grif and Simmons were slumped together, sleeping fitfully but sleeping. Sarge was still clutching his shotgun. Caboose was sat against the wall near all of the Blue’s equipment, fast asleep and mumbling incoherently.

Wash ignored the fact his face got warmer at the sight of him.

He walked over to the larger soldier, dumping his helmet down next to his and sitting down beside him. It wasn’t going to be a particularly comfortable night’s sleep, but he’d had much worse. He could do little but make the best of it, in the end.

And so he closed his eyes, leaning his head against the sandstone wall behind him. It took a while, but he began to dose off. His head drooped, his body relaxed, and without even realising he slumped to the side where his head fell against Caboose’s shoulder.

Caboose stirred. He hadn’t been asleep _too_ long, and he wasn’t exactly expecting someone’s head to suddenly land on his shoulder. His mouth stretched wide with a yawn, his face scrunching up, and he glanced at Wash with a tilted head.

“Oh, it is just Agent Washingtub! Oh well now that doesn’t look like it is a very good position to sleep!” He tutted, shaking his head, “Silly Agent Washingtub. I must make him more comfortable!”

Careful not to actually disturb him, Caboose resettled Washington in a position that didn’t put as much strain on his neck and yet still didn’t move him away from Caboose’s side. When he was done he looked at the man, nodding as he was apparently satisfied with his work. Then, with a beaming smile, he pressed a kiss to Wash’s freckled forehead.

“Goodnight Agent Washingtub.”

And then, with his head resting against Wash’s, Caboose went back to sleep.


	6. Tough Fluff (Tuckboosington)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Caboose feels bad about his body. Tucker and Wash aren't having any of it.

Caboose pouted at his reflection in the mirror.

He threw his hair up into a messy bun, scratching at the stubble on his jaw, and puffed out his chest. He stood like that, his breath held and his shoulders square, for a long moment as he examined himself in the mirror. When he let the breath go, his shoulders slumped; he looked down, and poked himself in the stomach with a whine.

And then two arms wrapped around his waist, and a face pressed into his back.

“Whatcha doing big guy?” Tucker’s muffled voice came. He squeezed Caboose tight, nuzzling against his back, and peered around his side, “You’ve been in here a while. You need help shaving?”

Caboose shook his head, “Ah, no, I am not doing the shaving thing today, Tucker.”

“Okay. Then what’s the hold-up buddy? You’re usually pretty quick in here,” Tucker asked, looking up at him. Caboose pouted stubbornly, folding his arms so that his elbow was sat on Tucker’s head. He huffed, “Oh come on Mikey! You know you can tell me anything.”

“Hm. Well then, ah. I am not, ah, feeling all that nice right now.”

Tucker frowned, “Why?”

“Because I do not have all the… the… the tough fluff that Tucker and Washingtub do!” He shrunk, “I just have the fluff and I do not think I look very nice and I am sad now.”

Tucker’s frown deepened. Caboose cast his eyes to the floor, watching his feet tap against the floor.

“Okay no, fuck that.”

“Huh?”

Tucker grabbed Caboose’s hand in his own, tugging him by the arm, “Come on, you come with me. Right now.”

Caboose pouted, standing his ground. Tucker may be a lot stronger than he used to be, but Caboose still had the size advantage, “What if I do not want to?”

Tucker raised a brow, “Do you _really_ not want to?”

“…Yes?”

“Caboose.”

Caboose pouted more, but followed Tucker through into the bedroom.

Wash, to his credit, didn’t look all that surprised when his datefriends returned not only still undressed but with one of them being dragged by the other. He simply sighed, scratching the back of his head and giving them both a look.

“Alright, what’s going on? Why is Caboose being dragged around our quarters?” He asked, looking over the sight in front of him. They were both standing around in their boxers, Tucker in his t-shirt and Caboose shirtless. It wasn’t that he didn’t appreciate the sight, per say, but they were _meant_ to be getting dressed.

Tucker let go of Caboose’s hand to fold his arms, “Caboose feels bad about his stomach.”

“…What?”

“You heard me,” Tucker said, “Caboose feels bad about his stomach. That’s gotta stop, like. Now.”

Caboose huffed, but his cheeks were red, “Tuck _errrr_!”

“‘Tuckerrrr’ nothing!”

“Okay, okay, slow down. _What’s_ happening? Caboose, why do you feel bad about your stomach?” Wash asked, his brow furrowed and more than a little confusion in his eyes. It was much too early in the morning to be deciphering these two’s interactions.

“Because it is not like yours or like Tucker’s! It does not look nice,” Caboose pouted, folding his arms and looking away stubbornly. He looked ridiculously cute, standing there with his messy bun, scruffy face and pout.

And his squishy stomach.

A smile spread across Wash’s face, “Well it seems like we have an emergency on our hands then, doesn’t it? Luckily, I have _just_ the solution.”

Tucker grinned, “Oh you do huh?”

Caboose glanced at them out of the corner of his eye, still stubbornly pouting. Wash chuckled, looking back at him, giving a nod.

“I do, Captain Tucker.”

“…I do not know if I am liking what I am hearing,” Caboose said, looking between them.

Tucker and Wash shared a glance of their own, and then they struck.

Caboose burst out laughing as he was suddenly being tickled, his face flushing red and his knees giving out within moments so that he dropped back onto the bed. His boyfriends followed him down, Tucker kneeling over his hips and continuing his playful tickle assault whilst Wash knelt as his side.

“Oh no I am being attacked!”

“We’ve got him pinned down,” Tucker said with a grin, tickling his sides and beaming as he squirmed. His laughs were happy, not uncomfortable, and made Tucker’s gut twist in the nicest goddamn way, “We can win this yet!”

“I’m not sure, Captain Tucker, I think we need to bring out the big guns,” Wash said, somehow managing to sound almost _serious_ behind his grin. Tucker beamed.

“Oh I like how you think.”

“Ready?”

“Hell yes.”

“What are− _Oh my gosh tickles!_ ”

Wash and Tucker had abandoned their traditional tickling attack, and instead had begun absolutely covering Caboose’s stomach in kisses. Caboose laughed and squirmed, his hands alternating between flapping and instinctively trying to bat at the source of the tickling sensations. When Tucker blew a raspberry, he absolutely lost it.

“Gasp! That tickles! Tuckerrrr! Washingtub!” Caboose squealed, words split by laughter.

Wash stopped kissing his stomach for just long enough to kiss his nose, grinning down at him, “You still feel bad about your stomach, Mikey? Because if you _do_ , we’re just going to have to keep this up.”

“But it is not− _Tickles_!” He laughed, squirming as Tucker blew another raspberry, “ _Tucker_!”

Tucker looked up at him, resting his chin on his stomach, “Do you still feel bad about your stomach?”

Caboose shook his head.

“Caboooose.”

“I do not feel so bad about my tummy anymore and I would like cuddles now!” Caboose said, all in one big breath.

Wash and Tucker shared a look, and both sat up.

Caboose was flushed red as he sat up, his hair even messier than before and his smile ridiculously big. He held his arms out wide, his hands instinctively flapping a little, and bounced where he sat.

Wash and Tucker didn’t wait more than a second before settling into his tight hold.

“You are very nice to me and I am very glad that I love you,” Caboose said simply, holding them close and nuzzling the top of each of their heads in turn, “Which I do. A lot. A lot a lot. A lot a lot a−”

Tucker cut him off with a kiss, “We love you a lot too Mikey. You and your squishy ass stomach.”

“It just makes you even cuter than you already are,” Wash added, a soft purr escaping as he leant against Caboose with a relaxed sigh, “And that’s very cute, Caboose.”

Caboose just beamed.


	7. One Night Off (SargeGrey)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a long day of work, Sarge is determined to make sure Grey relaxes.

“Oh what a _day_!” Grey said, nudging the door shut behind her with her butt. She kicked off her shoes, pulling the scrunchie around her wrist off with her teeth as she fought with her hair, “ _Someone_ caused a multiple warthog pile-up! We had _quite_ the influx of patients! Nothing _major_ , injuries wise, but there was _quite_ the variety!”

Sarge looked up from where he was sat, cleaning his shotgun, with a chuckle, “Was that ‘someone’ a certain lil’ lady with red accents, by any chance?”

“Surprisingly, no!” Grey laughed. She tied her curly natural hair into a loose bun at the top of her skull, blowing a few loose strands out of her face, “Lieutenant Jensen was notably absent from the scene of the crime. No, it was one of the federal soldiers who started the pile up, unfortunately! But I think he’s learned his lesson. Your first broken ribs will do that to you!”

“They do indeed! I remember my first broken ribs like it were yesterday,” Sarge said. He stared off into space wistfully, shotgun still in hand. Grey giggled, walking over and kissing his forehead as she carefully took his shotgun from his hold and placed it down.

“Of course you do dear,” She said, lacing her fingers with his and squeezing his hands tight. Sarge snapped out of his wistful gaze and looked back at her with a toothy grin.

“Heheh.”

Grey kissed his nose, then stood back, “Well, it’s been a _very_ long and _very_ tiring day! I think it’s time to relax and do some work!”

“Now you wait a gosh darn second now, little lady; I don’t know how things work around here but on red team, ‘relax’ and ‘work’ are only uttered in the same sentence by Grif! And that’s when he’s refusing to work in favour of relaxing!” Sarge exclaimed, standing up in a sudden motion. Grey raised a brow, then found herself laughing as Sarge quite literally swept her off her feet, “You are doing one thing, and one thing _only_ , tonight, and that is relaxing!”

“Sarge, I am a _Doctor_! I’ll have you know I can’t just shirk off work!” Grey said, laughing and flapping her hands the whole time. She made exactly no effort to get down, “Now you put me _down_!”

“No can do ma’am, I have a duty of my own y’see,” He said, hoisting her up further and stepping away from the seat.

“Oh really?” She raised a brow, smirking, “And what’s that, Sargent?”

“Makin’ sure that this wonderful woman here in my arms gets some goddamn rest, that’s what!”

He carried her across the room and laid her down on the bed, quickly joining her and enveloping her in a hug. Grey laughed, wrapping her arms around him in return and looking up at him, her chin against his chest. He grinned another toothy grin down at her, giving her a squeeze.

“There. _Muuuch_ better.”

“I _could_ get up, you know,” Grey said, raising a brow. Sarge’s grin only grew.

“But you won’t,” He replied, kissing the top of her head.

Grey beamed, “Mm, but I won’t. Though if I _could_ just reach my data-pad…”

“Emily.”

“Just kidding!”

Sarge shook his head, holding her a little tighter and beginning to hum a deep hum under his breath. Grey just laughed quietly and tucked her head under his chin, giving him a squeeze as she nuzzled against his chest. She closed her eyes, letting herself relax, and listened to him humming.

One night off wasn’t such a bad idea.


	8. Worth It (MaineWash)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maine hadn’t found it easy, getting hold of this old space projector, but honestly it had been worth it.

Wash’s eyes were alight with awe. He looked up at the hundreds of stars and depths of space surrounding them, face lit up by a multitude of colours and sources. It seemed never-ending, and every time he shifted his eyes he saw something he hadn’t spotted before. He’d never felt so small in his _life_ , but he was absolutely fascinated.

Maine couldn’t tear their eyes away from him.

“This is so cool, Maine,” He said, never for a second looking away from the projected stars surrounding them. The room was filled, the same colours that were lighting up his face turning the surfaces of their quarters into a beautiful light show, “Like, this is the coolest thing ever. Of all time.”

Maine chuckled, smiling at the way Wash pressed closer to their chest upon hearing the familiar rumbling sound. They ruffled his hair, earning a whine, and tucked him closer.

“Glad you like it.”

Wash grinned at them, then turned his attention back to the projection, “Oh, oh! What’s that?”

It hadn’t been particularly easy, getting a hold of the machine that sat in the centre of their bunk. It was a fairly old piece of equipment, used for things such as navigation and certain types of research, but that didn’t mean that it wasn’t kept locked away in one of the more restricted areas of the ship. Agents weren’t meant to mess with the scientific equipment unless instructed, and none of them had the key codes to access the research labs or storage facilities. To find this silly old projector Maine had had to break out every stealth skill they had ever learned, which considering their speciality wasn’t all that many, and even then they’d nearly been spotted.

But it had been worth it.

Wash looked around with utter fascination, pointing out interesting areas and asking Maine what they knew about them. Maine answered, to the best of their knowledge, whilst never taking their eyes off his bright eyed expression for more than a few moments at a time.

Wash was a comforting weight, laid on their chest with their legs intertwined and his head over their heart. Maine could feel the warmth of him; the way his chest rose and fell when he breathed; the occasional nudge in the shins they received. It was comforting, familiar. They didn’t get chance to just take some time to themselves all that often, especially with missions picking up the pace as they were, so Maine took what they could get and made the most of it.

After a while Wash stopped asking questions, resting more heavily against Maine and simply taking the time to look around. Maine watched him in turn, holding him closer to them and loosely lacing their fingers into his hair. He leant into the touch almost instinctively, resting his head against them. He had a smile on his face, and Maine could hear the quiet purr that escaped him.

They smiled too. Yeah, it had been worth it.


	9. Settling Down (SouthCT)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After travelling the galaxy for two years, South and Connie finally decide it's time to settle down like all their friends.

The car journey was an adventure; a miniature road trip across the colony from where their ship had landed, filled with bad singing and bad jokes and reminiscing. They were used to the travelling by now, having spent the past two years traversing the galaxy with little more than a couple of backpacks to their name and no idea where they were going to end up next.

But now Connie and South were settling down. The time for adventures was over.

“Wow, the city really fucking crept up on us,” South said, looking up in awe at all of the skyscrapers that now surrounded them on all sides, “I thought we were moving into some shitty little suburban house?”

Connie gave her a look, “We are, Tasha, we’re just not there yet. Though calling it shitty might be a little harsh.”

“Babe, it’s shitty. We’re dirt poor and I’m not taking money off fucking Carolina or my damn brother, so it’s shitty,” South said, giving her girlfriend her own look in return,  “ _Own_ its shittyness, Connie, _own_ _it._ ”

Connie laughed, shoving her shoulder, “Oh quit it.”

“Nah, don’t want to,” But she turned her eyes back to the road any, if only to make sure she didn’t crash them into something and bring this road trip to a premature ending. She saw Connie smile at her out of the corner of her eye, and couldn’t help but smile too, “You nervous?”

“A little?” Connie said, picking slightly at an old scar on her arm. South reached over and stopped her without even looking away from the road, “We haven’t stayed in one place for more than a _week_ in _two years_. It’s a big change. But honestly? I’m _excited_. Are you nervous?”

South snorted, “Nah, you kidding me? Why the fuck would I be nervous? I suggested the whole fucking thing!”

“Okay, I do have to give you that,” Connie said, leaning back in her seat, “Then that’s settled, isn’t it? We’re not nervous.”

“Yup!” South said, swallowing a lump in her throat.

She was nervous.

She was _really_ fucking nervous.

It wasn’t long before they started to move away from the endless skyscrapers into a comparatively more homely area, filled mostly with small businesses and homes. By the time they reached the road their ‘shitty little suburban house’ was on their surroundings felt much more like what they were imagining, and South could see Connie become visibly more relaxed.

South still wasn’t relaxed.

South was still _really fucking nervous_.

They pulled up outside their new home a few minutes later, and true to South’s insistence it really was a shitty, little suburban house. It would definitely need some work doing, whenever they had the cash to actually do anything with it, but it was all they could afford. It would do. They’d get used to it.

Connie knocked the car door shut with her butt, looking up at the house in front of them, “Here it is, huh?”

“Yep,” South said, leaning on the roof of the car, “Here it is.”

“You grab the bags, I’ll go check open the door and check there’s no nasty surprises,” Connie said, darting around the car to give South a quick kiss on the cheek before heading towards the front door. South watched her go, saw the little skip in her step and the way she’d begun to do that cute ass walking on her toes thing, and she bit her lip.

God, she was _so fucking nervous_.

She shouldn’t be this nervous, she _knew_ she shouldn’t be this nervous. It was terrible and irrational and there was absolutely no reason for her to be so painfully anxious. She and Connie had been through _so much worse_ than this! They’d been through the wringer that was Project Freelancer, experimental UNSC project from the depths of hell that nearly killed them and all their friends. They’d spent two years travelling the galaxy together, never away from each other’s side for more than a few hours and facing every single problem that came with that situation. They’d been through so much, and their relationship was stronger than _ever_.

But she was still so _fucking nervous_.

South swallowed hard.

What if Connie suddenly decided she hated her? What if Connie suddenly decided she wasn’t good enough for her? What if Connie couldn’t deal with South and everything wrong with her in such a tiny space? What if Connie fell out of love with her?

One of the windows on the second floor opened, and South all but jumped out of her skin. Connie’s appeared in the open space moments later, clearly trying not to laugh.

“Sorry! I didn’t mean to scare you.”

South snorted, “Me? Scared by that? Don’t kid yourself.”

Connie gave her a look, but then just beamed, “You have to get in here, Tasha. It’s not as bad as it looks on the outside! It’s almost homely, actually. All we need is to scatter our things around a little.”

“Oh yeah?” South said, raising a brow.

“Oh yeah,” Connie repeated, her smile turning mischievous, “We can always start with scattering our clothing around the floor, if you like.”

South couldn’t stop the grin that formed, “ _God_ , Connie, we’ve been here all of ten fucking minutes! And people think _I’m_ the horny one in this relationship? You’re lucky I love you enough to put up with your filth.”

“Oh god shut up,” Connie laughed, covering her mouth, “I love you too, but if you don’t get your ass in here in the next two minutes then I’m just going to have to take matters into my own hands.”

And just like that, South’s heart was no longer pounding with nerves. Connie standing there in that window with a flushed face, trying to look stern whilst being unable to stop laughing, made her chest feel _warm_. She loved her. She loved her _so much_. She loved her laugh, her smile, her squishy body, her attitude, she loved her _so much_.

And Connie loved her too. She just… had to be reminded, sometimes.

“Oh don’t worry,” She grinned, grabbing their backpacks from the back seat of the car, “I’m coming.”

* * *

Hours later, when the sun had gone down and they’d lost track of time, they were laid in their new bed. Their foreheads were rested together, South’s arms looped around Connie’s waist and Connie’s fingers tangled in her hair. There was no electricity yet, and their backpacks were dumped unceremoniously at the end of the bed, but it was already beginning to feel a little bit like home.

“You know I cannot fucking believe we never tried you riding me before,” South murmured, pressing a kiss to her girlfriend’s lips with a cheeky grin on her own, “Like, seriously.”

“Don’t ruin the moment you dirty dork,” Connie retorted, trying to sound reprimanding but giggling under her breath. South simply grinned, “God, we’re doing it. We’re settling down.”

“Damn right we are.”

“We’re a little late to the party,” Connie said, kissing her nose. South pulled a face, “John and Noah, Carolina and her girlfriend, Isaac and David… They’ve been shacked up for two years now. Isaac and David have a _daughter_.”

“Eh, so what?” South shrugged, “That’s them. We’re us. We do shit our own way, we always have.”

“True.”

“Our way is also ten times better. We got to see the galaxy before we went all _boring_.”

Connie raised a brow, “You think I’m boring?”

“The _good_ kind of boring,” South replied, a mischievous glint in her eye. Connie laughed, nuzzling their noses together.

South wasn’t nervous anymore. South was _excited_. Bring on the boring house; the boring jobs; the boring days; bring it all on. She had Connie. She was all the excitement her life needed, and she loved her.


	10. Body (Lolix)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (M Rated) Felix wants to make sure that Locus knows that every inch of them matters.

He started just by kissing them.

They were leant back against the mountain of pillows that occupied their bed, with him straddled over their lap just kissing them. Their hands were rested on his hip and side, their thumb rubbing circles on his hip and a finger tracing those familiar tally marks – the number had grown, even since last time. His arms were draped around their shoulders; their chests pressed close together; warmth pooling everywhere their skin touched.

After a while he slowly pulled away, lips disconnecting from theirs in favour of pressing a kiss to their nose; their cheeks; their forehead. He lingered there, his hands cupping their head, then repeated the series of kisses in reverse. His hands slipped from the base of their skull, brushing across their shoulders and trailing down their arms to take hold of their hands. He laced their fingers together, giving their hands a squeeze as he pressed a kiss to their jaw.

They tilted their head back, exposing the skin of their neck to him. Immediately there was a trail of kisses pressed from their jaw to their collar bone, then back up to the bulge of their Adam’s apple. He lingered there for a moment, his breath tickling their skin, before peppering kisses across the expanse of their neck.

At that they laughed under their breath, the feeling pleasant but tickly, and squeezed his hands, “ _Felix_.”

Felix grinned against their skin, pressing one final kiss against their pulse. He squeezed Locus’ hands in return, brushing his thumb over the curve of their own, before letting one hand go. He cupped their cheek, his thumb tracing their lips and then their jaw; a single finger traced a pattern down along their jugular, following it down to their chest where he laid his hand over their heart. There he traced another pattern, just simple five letters, and pressed a kiss over the same spot.

From there the kisses travelled gradually south. He focused on their heart for a moment, one kiss after another in a lazy circle, then made a path down the centre of their chest and abdomen. It was there he paused again, nudging their stomach with his nose as he pressed a kiss to the skin above their navel. He grinned against the skin, squeezing the hand he held and resting the other on their hip.

“Squish.”

“Felix.”

Felix chuckled, kissing their stomach again. And again. He covered their stomach with kisses, careful not to miss a single spot, all the time with a smug smile on his face at the way Locus chuckled and squirmed, but relaxed. He squeezed their hand, stroked their hip, and kissed across their stomach again whilst looking up at his partner’s face.

Their cheeks were darker; there was a relaxed look on their face, almost a smile; their head was leant back.

He pressed one more kiss to the spot above their navel, following it by kissing back up over their chest, their neck, and stopping at their lips. They leant into the touch, but Felix pulled away and rested their foreheads together. Locus’s eyes opened, looking somewhat confused, until Felix kissed their forehead instead.

“Every inch of you is important, you got that? Here,” He kissed their forehead again, “And here,” He kissed their throat, “And here,” He kissed their heart, “And here,” He kissed their stomach, “Every bit,” He kissed them on the lips again.

Locus leant into the kiss again, and this time Felix held it. Every spot that he had kissed tingled, and their body felt warm. Felix’s weight was still above them, his hand still in theirs, and the kiss was gentle. After a moment they felt Felix’s free hand move from their hip, and Felix parted the kiss to look at them.

“Every inch of you Lo. Including here,” His smug smile turned mischievous as Locus felt a familiar hand wrap around them, and let out a quiet noise. Their cheeks grew darker, and they gave Felix a mild look. Felix grinned, then kissed their forehead, “But seriously, Lo. Every inch of you is important. Mm’kay?”

Locus nodded. Felix kissed them.

“You okay to keep going?” He asked, resting their foreheads together once again. When Locus gave him a nod he responded with one of his own, and the hand wrapped around Locus began slow stroking motions as Locus grasped his other hand, “I gotcha, Lo.”

Locus nodded, relaxing and focusing on the sensation. It helped, when Felix took that time beforehand to try and show Locus that they _mattered_. It was a little easier to to think that way, to acknowledge that they and their body was somehow important, when it came from Felix. Just a little. And for that, they had to be grateful.


	11. Teamwork at its Finest (MaineWash)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maine and Wash are a great team in and out of the field. Even if their adventures sometimes go a little wrong.

Teamwork was important, in their line of work. You needed to know that you could count on your team to watch your back in the field, or you weren’t going to come out of the field alive when things went south. Early in the project it had become common practice to assign agents partners, both a primary and a backup, with whom they would be sent on missions and placed in training with most frequently. This was in hopes of building up teams that would work together well naturally.

York was paired with Carolina and North; North was paired with York and South; South was paired with North and Connie; Connie was paired with South and Washington; Washington was paired with Connie and Maine, and so on. These teams had many, many missions and training sessions worth of experience as partners, which would in turn facilitate the growth of teamwork as a whole.

And, for the most part, the system worked. The partnerships were strong, and they were able to work together well in a variety of circumstances.

Including some rather more… _inappropriate_ circumstances.

“Done?”

“If I was done I’d be back out already.”

Maine was leant against the wall by the entrance to the communal showers, keeping watch over the locker room. Wash had been in the showers for a few minutes now, which wouldn’t be unreasonable if he were actually showering.

“Fair,” Maine grunted, after considering the response. They made another scan of the locker room, though there’d been no indication someone had entered.

“It’s fiddlier than I expected, okay?” Wash said, followed by a short string of curse words South would be proud of. Maine raised an eyebrow, peering around the wall just in time for Wash to exit the showers, “I uh, got it all over my hands. And then got them wet. So it’s kinda… done its thing.”

He held up his hands; patches of the skin were now bright green.

Maine almost laughed.

“This isn’t funny!” Wash huffed, crossing his arms, “If York sees my hands he’s gonna know!”

Maine was just about to respond when they heard the beeps of the access panel.

Wash’s eyes widened, and he looked up at Maine. There was a moment of shared panic before Maine grabbed Wash by the arm and dragged him behind the next row of lockers, those that belonged to the mercenary class freelancers and that were out of sight of the shower entrance.

Maine pulled Wash tight to them on instinct, keeping him tucked close so they had minimal chance of being spotted around the lockers. They shared a look when they heard the sound of footsteps, approaching the row of lockers directly connected to the row they were hiding behind. One of the lockers swung open, and this time it was Maine’s eyes that widened.

Wash went to speak, but Maine covered his mouth. They raised their hands, with one hand curled into a fist but the thumb extended, placing it under their chin and moving it forward. Then they raised their fist to their forehead, and finally extended their hands flat and, holding them at an angle to their body, mimed the action of a door opening with one hand.

Wash blinked, then listened closely.

Oh shit. They were right. That was _not_ York’s locker.

The locker swung shut again, and the footsteps headed towards the showers. It still wasn’t clear who it was that was now in the locker room with them, at least, not until the humming began.

Old Britannia.

_Wyoming_.

“Don’t panic,” Wash whispered, “I mean, it’s only in York’s stuff! Not Wyoming’s! We’re fine!”

“Oh good,” Wyoming’s voice came from the showers, “That insufferable locksmith finally moved his products back to his locker.”

The look on Maine’s face said more than their words or hands ever could. Before Wash could say another word they took him by the hand, and giving him a look and nodding towards the other exit. Wash squeezed their hand tightly on instinct, and nodded.

They all but ran out of the room. They didn’t stop until they were at _least_ the equivalent of three blocks away.

“…Okay, this went badly very quickly,” Wash panted, leaning over on his knees, “Um. Um. What do we do? I’m covered in green! Wyoming catching us is ten times worse than York catching us!”

Maine thought it over for a moment, looking at Wash’s very green hands. That wasn’t going to come off any time soon; it was hard enough to get out of hair, let alone off your skin. It would take much more time than they had available before they’d inevitably bump into Wyoming again to get Wash clean of the evidence. So…

Maine pulled off their hoodie in one motion and handed it to Wash.

“Huh?”

“On,” They said, folding their arms. Wash raised a brow, but pulled the much too large hoodie on anyway.

Just as he suspected, he was absolutely swamped by it. _But_ his hands were covered by the sleeves.

“Oh!” He said, looking at his hands. When he bent his arms upwards the sleeves fell slightly, but still kept his hands covered, “Okay that makes sense.”

Maine nodded, looking at their partner. He was truly swamped by the larger agent’s hoodie, it came down to not far above his knees and his hands were definitely hidden. He looked… almost, no, not almost, he looked _cute_.

Suddenly a yell came from the vague direction of the locker room, and Maine quickly decided to process this information later. They ruffled Wash’s hair, grabbed him by his sleeve covered hand, and moved.

* * *

They were sitting in one of the rec rooms with some of the others when Wyoming came barging in, his hair and most notably his moustache now a bright, bright green. Even Carolina struggled to keep a straight face, clearly trying not to laugh even as she told everyone else to be mature and that it wasn’t funny.

“This is ridiculous! That stupid locksmith has gone one step too far!”

York wasn’t laughing anymore, “Wait, _me_? I didn’t do that! I’ve been training all morning!”

“Well, not _all_ morning York,” Carolina said, looking at him out of the corner of her eye, “You did take a break.”

“What?! I− But−”

Maine looked at Wash, and Wash looked at Maine. They _could_ stop York from getting the blame, but then they’d be the targets of Wyoming’s rage, and well…

Wash shrugged and leaned against Maine’s side and simply snuggling more into the hoodie, which, he had discovered, was very warm and comfortable and smelled just like Maine.

Maine chuckled, wrapping an arm around him. He had the right idea.

Besides, York was a big boy. He could handle it.


End file.
